


Ideal Life

by Jaycrire



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, F/M, Friendship, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Swearing, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:11:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaycrire/pseuds/Jaycrire
Summary: A man with a partiality for the occult, an Egyptian beauty and a bookworm with social anxiety. The years to come were bound to be interesting...“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”― Mark Twain





	1. A Rough Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is the updated version of the first chapter I wrote back in April, and there are a lot of changes. So have fun reading!
> 
> I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of its characters.

The pungent smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, creeping silently under slits of closed doors and through empty keyholes. Its essence seemingly reaching every nook and cranny in the quiet apartment. As it worked its way from the kitchen, it drafted into the open living room until it finally settled inside the nostrils of a young man sprawled out on a worn couch. Neither the piece of furniture, nor his sleeping position looked in the least bit comfortable.

The brown leather was torn in a few places, unadulterately revealing its soft insides to visitors, and the seats prominently showed off curves of the inhabitants’ behinds. Over the years the object had established itself in the apartment and had become the subject of many heated discussions between the tenants. Yet they had always led back to the same conclusion: though it was an eyesore, it had too much sentimental value to simply be thrown away… Also buying a new couch was way too expensive.

So, on this old friend, Bakura laid in a crumpled heap. One of his pale arms hung loosely over the side, fingertips brushing against the soft carpet underneath, while the other rested in an unnatural angle beneath his head. At some point during the night, a woollen blanket had dismissively been thrown over his lean body, covering most of it, but leaving his feet to peek out. And they were freezing. To add to his discomfort, he was lying face down and was, slowly but surely, running out of air. Disgruntled, he groaned into the cushions as he pried one of his tired eyes open.

This, however, was a worse decision than suffocating.

The world around him was whirling and left him with no time to get accustomed to his surroundings before an all too familiar nausea spread in his stomach. Feeling the bile and whatever toxic waste he had shifted into his body rise into his oesophagus made him curse himself for his reckless behaviour the previous night. At the speed of light, he was off the couch and on the way to the bathroom, completely ignoring his flatmate’s raised eyebrow as he rushed past him.

Seconds later, said flatmate could do naught but scrunch his nose up in disgust at the noises that now issued from the bathroom. It was during moments such as this that Marik was glad he wasn’t a big fan of alcohol. He knew his limits and made it a point to not ever go overboard. It had happened once when he was still in his teens and that was an experience he wished to erase from his memories entirely.

Why Bakura chose to consciously drink himself to oblivion at times was beyond him. As long as his friend kept his excessive alcohol intake to one time a month instead of every day, he was not going to intervene.

That, however, did not mean he wasn’t allowed to be an ass about it. Marik would have loved to simply say “serves you right”, but opted for a more creative way of communicating his annoyance. With a devilish smirk playing on his lips, he grabbed his cup of coffee from the kitchen table and sauntered towards the open bathroom door. Although it was barely possible, Marik tried to blend out the strong acid smell and the effects it had on his own insides.

“Good morning”, he greeted his friend in his best sing-song voice. There was no stopping the satisfied grin on his face as Bakura visibly flinched.

A moment of silence passed between them before Bakura shifted slightly. He turned his head, only so much for Marik to note that his usually pale complexion seemed a sickeningly mix of green and yellow. Dark rings framed the underside of his eyes that seemed to have trouble focusing on only one point. Marik would have almost felt pity towards his miserable friend, had there not been an irritated snarl adorning his face.

“Fuck you.”

A snicker escaped Marik before he mockingly held the cup out in front of him. The brown liquid swished teasingly at the movement.

“After all the trouble I went through to make you coffee, you treat me so rudely?”

“Do I look”, Bakura’s eyes widened for a split second before he doubled over again and spill another portion of his stomach contents into the awaiting porcelain bowl. After a moment of coughing and regaining his breath, he continued in a ragged voice, “Like I want that?”

Marik simply shrugged, not caring that the other man couldn’t see the motion, and took a sip himself. Had he not already found a job with a steady income, he might have considered opening up his own café. A satisfied hum left his lips. He had to admit, he was really good at brewing.

Not wanting to have his success be ruined by a new wave of nausea hitting Bakura, Marik turned his back and headed towards the kitchen.

“You’re really missing out, you know?” He called behind him.

The only answer he got was a loud groan and the sound of the toilet flushing.

*

It took Bakura’s stomach about thirty more hellish minutes to settle.

Now, he was lying back on the couch with one arm draped over his eyes while the other rested comfortably on his still rumbling abdomen. His throat burnt from the gastric acid and his mouth continued to taste of vomit, even though he had thoroughly rinsed it. But none of these discomforts could hold a candle to the throbbing in his head. Every movement, no matter how minuscule, shot electricity directly into his cranium. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn it was about to pop like a balloon when stung by a needle.

The only thing he could do was to wait for the aspirin to work its magic.

Bakura swore – for the umpteenth time – that this was the last hangover he’d ever trudge through. How long he would keep to his own oath was written in the stars… or rather in the next message he got from his friends.

While Bakura was revelling in his alcohol induced misery, Marik had left their shared living space to get the mail and was just now returning. He disinterestedly leafed through the newspaper, stopping for a moment to read an announcement for a new exhibit at the art museum. “Comics, mangas, graphic novels” sounded interesting, so Marik bookmarked the page with a dog-ear before throwing the paper aside and moving to sift through the envelopes he had discarded on the coffee table.

Bills, bills, an invite to the re-opening of their favourite pizzeria, more bills, a… written threat for Bakura?

Marik raised a brow at the scrawny handwriting before looking over at the pitiful image that was his roommate.

“Did you get into a fight yesterday?”

“I don’t bloody know”, his voice was hoarse and quiet as he spoke, “I don’t remember a thing…”

“Well, you got a love letter from” Marik quickly checked the name of the sender and let out a surprised scoff “D. Ryuzaki.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Bakura gave his reaction. “Burn it.”

Marik balled the piece of paper up and threw it towards the kitchen. That way he was sure to remember it later.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Marik was surprised to find the last letter addressed to all of the tenants in their building. At further inspection, he noticed that their landlords name was printed on the envelope. Puzzled and slightly worried he tore it open.

A few moments of silence passed in the apartment before Bakura felt a light tap against his arm. Couldn’t Marik leave him to die in peace for once? With an annoyed groan, he grudgingly moved his limb away from his face, only to be greeted by a light brown envelope being wiggled in front of his face. His eyes flitted from the object to Marik’s face, taking a bit too long to focus on the worried expression he was wearing. His delicate eyebrows were knitted in a deep frown and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. To see the usual rather cheery Marik this concerned was an unusual sight. And it did not bode well.

Though his limbs felt like lead, Bakura stretched his arm out and yanked the piece of paper from his friend’s fingers. Ignoring the throbbing in his head, Bakura pulled the piece of paper out and squinted at the words written in bold at the top. His brown eyes widened before he set his face in a scowl. He couldn’t have read it right.

“Is this a joke?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marik shake his head, his golden earrings clinking softly at the motion. Bakura could feel the nausea creeping up on him again, although this time he was sure it weren’t the after effects of the alcohol plaguing him. He turned his gaze back to his friend, searching his eyes for any sort of answer.

“Now what?”


	2. Ohayo

“What now?”, you groaned irritated at the sudden, penetrating beeping besides your head.

It took a moment for you to realize what the disturbance was, but then you practically growled at the alarm you had set. Sluggishly, you reached for the source, managing to knock your phone off the bedside table and send it tumbling to the ground with a loud thud. Unfortunately, that did not stop it from continuing its obnoxious ringing.

With an exaggerated groan, you peeled back the covers and rose from the comfort of your warm bed. Your tired eyes scanned the floor half-heartedly for the small device that had disrupted your slumber. Considering, that it had begun to vibrate violently and the screen was flashing quite brightly, this task was made easy for your barely awake state.

You picked the offender up from its hiding place beneath your bed, checked the time – 7 am – and forcefully hit ‘snooze’.

Silence finally enveloped the room and you sighed as you stumbled back onto the still warm mattress. For a brief moment, you thought about going back to sleep but cancelled that option when you reminded yourself the reason you had to get up at such an unearthly hour.

With your eyes now wide open, you stared at the ceiling in thought.

Everything about your current situation still seemed surreal. And you were not just talking about you managing to wake up before noon for once. No, you were talking about the fact that your future had just started taking shape, about two weeks prior, in the form of an acceptance letter to one of the most renowned universities of the country: Domino City University.

You had taken the entrance exams mostly out of pure desperation than actual interest in registering, since you had already been denied by two other universities beforehand, and through some inexplicable and - almost certainly - _dumb luck_ , you had passed. A reality, you hadn’t quite yet grasped.

It wasn’t that you thought yourself incapable of studying at such a high level institution, not since you had proven your worth by earning a good score in the exams. It was simply that people from your social standing didn’t exactly fit the picture of who attended DCU. You had done some research, and with every famous name you had come across, your anxiety had grown. More often than not, you had caught yourself thinking that your acceptance had been a mistake. Your theory was that they had accidentally shifted a line lower and written down your name instead of some other poor person’s, who was much more qualified than you could ever hope to be.

But _you_ had been chosen and _you_ needed to focus on what was to come next. Which was finding a dwelling in the big city, since you couldn’t be sleeping in lecture halls for the next four years.

You had spent entire afternoons sending out e-mails and scrolling through different websites to find empty apartments. It frustrated you to great lengths that you had put so much time and effort into your search, only to be gifted with no more than four replies to the hundreds of e-mails you had written. Your parents had chastised you by saying that it was better than nothing, and you couldn’t agree more, but still you were disappointed.

A loud yawn escaped you, making your eyes water and pulling you back to the present. Quickly checking your phone, you noted that you had moped around in bed for another ten minutes and decided that it was finally time to get up.

If you remembered correctly, the first of your flat visiting appointments – which you had all put on the same day – was at 10:30 am. This gave you enough time to make yourself look presentable and have a quick breakfast, before taking on the two-hour drive to Domino City.

You stretched your back, sighing with content as your joints popped from the action, before you grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom.

 

*

 

Getting ready had taken more time than you had initially anticipated. Not only had you spent too long in the shower and then meticulously put on you every-day-natural make-up, but you had also wasted at least half an hour trying to figure out what to wear. Only to decide that your favourite faded black jeans and burgundy cable knit pullover was the best combination you could come up with.

After losing that much time on your looks, you barely had any time left to eat a healthy breakfast. To your surprise, you were greeted by the sight of your mother grinning at you as you stepped into the kitchen. Before you even had the chance to register what was happening, she spoke up.

“Good morning, slowpoke! I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a little something for you.” She proudly motioned to the table laden with a number of different plates, heavily filled with food. The kitchen almost resembled the inside of a bakery. From pains au chocolat to scrambled eggs and bacon, your mother had prepared a feast fit for a queen. Too bad you didn’t have enough time left to let yourself get lost in this sinful display.

You thanked your mother, enveloping her in a quick hug, and began to dig in. She sat down across from you, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in her manicured hands, and simply watched as you continued to shove food into your mouth.

“So, the big day’s finally arrived.”

You gulped down the piece of toast you were chewing on and washed it down with a swig of orange juice. You wiped your mouth on your hand, earning yourself a disapproving look from your mother, and cleared your throat.

“It’s hardly _the_ big day. It’s only leading up to the real one.”

The woman before you rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be so nit-picky.” You stuck your tongue out at her, but she ignored the motion as she continued. "Big day or not, today’s still important. And I can only encourage you to be on your best behaviour.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Mom. I always am.”

The look she gave you then could only be described as a mixture of “don’t shit me” and “you know what I’m talking about”. And you did. Even if your mother didn’t voice it, you understood exactly what she was trying to tell you. She was obviously concerned about how you would handle yourself during your meetings.

You weren’t exactly, what one would call, a “people’s person”. Not that you disliked being around others, quite the contrary in fact, you even _craved_ for human contact at times. Only were such instances rather rare. And your shyness kept you from living them.

This lead to a lack of friends during your school days, which made your life a living hell in high school. At first, you had tried to fit in. You went to parties, joined club activities, and even caught yourself gossiping with the popular girls’ once or twice. But you had soon enough realized that that lifestyle did just not fit you. So you had stopped and that was when the bullying began. Because of your introvert personality, _you_ suddenly ended up being the butt of the popular girls’ jokes. _You_ were the one who sat at a completely empty table in the cafeteria during lunch. And it was _you_ that always ended up alone in group projects.

All of this, just because you preferred a good book and the quietness of your room over drunk teenagers and loud parties.

Maybe your mother was right. Maybe you did need to be on your best behaviour.

“I’ll try my best not to be myself too much.”

 

*

 

The door to your mother’s car was opened abruptly and you nearly jolted in your seat as you turned your head to find your father’s face dangerously close to yours. You could tell he had barely been awake for more than five minutes by the way his greying hair was a mess, cowlicks at the strangest angles and strands hanging into his eyes. He was squinting at you sceptically, making you squirm under his intense gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

Something seemed to click inside his mind at your question and as sudden as he had appeared, he was gone again. Only to reappear on your other side and motioning for you to roll down the window.

“Morning, sunshine.” His voice was still rough from sleep as he spoke. “I just wanted to make sure it was you sitting in there.”

“Mornin’. Who else would it have been?”

He shrugged his shoulders and quietly mumbled a “don’t know”. Maybe you had given him too much credit when you’d said he’d been out of bed for five minutes. Judging by his actions, it was probably less than two.

“So, the big day’s finally arrived.”

You groaned at the statement but let it slip this time. Not that your father left you any time to answer.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“You and your wife don’t trust me. I find that highly demotivating.”

Your father chuckled and shook his head slowly. When he returned his gaze to you, it had softened and a small smile, that made his eyes crinkle, played on his lips. He reached through the window and laid his large hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“We do trust you. We just... also worry.”

It was their good right, you thought. After all, they had had to live through your teenage years and the hardships it had entailed. Not that they knew everything that had been going on inside of you and your life for the last five years. And you made it a point to never let them find out. It would surely break them as much as it had done you.

A smile forced itself onto your face and you placed one of your hands reassuringly on your father’s.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Text us when you get there.” His hand retreated, leaving you oddly cold. “And try not to get lost.”

“Hey, why do you think I’ve got this little guy?”

You patted your phone, which you had mounted on the dashboard to serve as your navigator. But to be honest, you were counting on yourself getting lost, even with the help of your maps app.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Your father heaved himself away from the window and went to join your mother who had appeared at the front door of the house.

“Make sure to write us when you get there.” She called to you as you turned the key and started the engine. You flashed them a thumbs-up as the car roared to life.

You waved before pulling the car out of the parking space and onto the road. Hopefully the rest of the day would go as smoothly as the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback of any sort is highly appreciated. Thank you for reading!  
> I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or its characters. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi.


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